


Chicken Noodle Soup

by noyaspeach



Category: Clone High
Genre: (bc it's jfk), F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, I wrote this at 3 am haha, Sick Character, innuendos, no i did not proofread
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26818180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noyaspeach/pseuds/noyaspeach
Summary: When JFK shows up to school one day with a burning hot fever, someone's gotta convince him to go home and rest. And that someone just has to be Joan.
Relationships: Joan of Arc/JFK (Clone High)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 283





	Chicken Noodle Soup

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! Ever since I started watching the show about a month ago, I have been completely unable to stop thinking about JoanFK. So, here I am with my first ever Clone High fic that is oh so self-indulgent. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy! Apologies for any mistakes. Let me know what you think and if there's anything I can do to improve! <3

Mr. Sheepman’s homeroom class was going fine. Or, as fine as it could go with Mr. Sheepman droning on about his personal life again, leaving all the students bored out of their minds. This especially affected Gandhi, who quickly became restless, walking over to everyone’s desks to either strike up a conversation or tap out some rhythm on the tabletop with his pencils. He approached Joan where she sat reading a dark book she’d picked up from the library. 

“Go back to your seat, Gandhi,” she said before he had time to get a word out. 

“Oh, c’mon, Joan. I’m just so bored.” He took the book from her hands. “What are you reading?” 

She rushed to snatch the book back from him. “Nothing! It’s not important.” 

Gandhi noticed Joan’s state of panic and quickly leaned away. He closed the book and looked at the title, keeping it out of Joan’s reach. “ _Dusk_? That’s that one book about the vampires and the werewolves, right? I thought only twelve-year-old girls read this stuff.” He started to laugh. 

“Come on, quit it,” she grumbled as she lunged to take the book again. 

Gandhi jumped back and began to run about the classroom. “Look everyone, Joan’s got a copy of _Dusk_!” He waved the book high in the air (or, as high as he could get it). His yelling gained his classmates’ attention, and they watched on as Joan began to chase after him. 

“God, you’re so immature!” She weaved through the rows of desks as she ran after Gandhi, narrowly avoiding tripping over all the backpacks in the aisles. This game of cat and mouse continued for a short while, though Mr. Sheepman hardly seemed to notice as he scribbled on the blackboard. 

Gandhi stopped near the door. “Hey Fitz! Go long!” He locked eyes on JFK and threw the book. JFK whipped his head around at the sound of his name. In a quick succession of events, the book soared through the air, JFK shut his eyes, and everyone watched as the book made contact with his forehead. A loud THUNK resounded as it hit him, and the class winced in unison. Soon, an uncomfortable silence filled the room as everyone waited for someone to say something. 

“Oh my God, are you okay?” Joan spoke first, walking over to JFK’s desk. He was leaning forward, elbows on his desk, head down, and hands pressed tight against his temples. He was groaning under his breath, which was labored. She hesitantly reached forward to push his head back up. “You’re not bleeding or anything, right?” 

As soon as she touched his forehead, she felt a burning heat. Along his hairline were drops of, not blood, but sweat. She whispered, “do you have a fever?” 

JFK struggled to look up at her. “What? No, I’m fine.” 

“You’re sick, aren’t you?” 

“I, er uh, don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Uh, are you okay, JFK?” Gandhi approached the two of them awkwardly. “I’m sorry for throwing Joan’s book like that, I didn’t mean for it to hit you.” 

Before JFK could get a word out, Joan spoke for him. “I think it’s starting to bruise. He should probably see the nurse about it.” 

Mr. Sheepman finally seemed to notice the commotion. “Well, that’s a problem. I can write you a pass. Joan, will you accompany him to the nurse’s office?” 

“Sure thing.” She turned back to JFK. “Come on, let’s go.” 

Joan spotted the way his arms shook as he pushed himself off the desk and started to stand. She cautiously reached out to grab his arm and lead him out the door. When they made it out into the hallway, the door closed behind him, Joan stopped and faced JFK. 

“Why are you here if you’re sick?” 

“I, uh, already told you. I’m not sick. Just take me to the nurse so I can get patched up and go.” 

Joan narrowed her eyes in suspicion but returned to holding JFK’s arm to steady him as they walked down the empty hallway. 

“If you’re not sick, then how come you’re so gross and sweaty right now?” 

“The air conditioning blows.” 

“I don’t know, I was pretty chilly.” 

“Well, that's great for you.” He took a shaky breath. 

“You seem weak, Kennedy. Your arms were shaking back there, too.” 

“I'm, er, sore from workouts, that’s all.” 

“Come on, the whole school knows yesterday was leg day.” Joan chided. Under her breath, she added, “you don’t shut up about it, anyways.” 

“What are you tryin’ to get me to admit, Joan?” He snapped. 

“That you’re sick and need to go home,” she responded. “If not for your sake, then for everyone else’s.” 

“I feel fantastic.” He tried to pull his arm from Joan’s hold, but stumbled in the process. He clutched his head in a moment of dizziness. 

“You sure about that?” Joan took hold of his arm again, maintaining a tighter grasp this time. “You know, if you’re this sick, there’s no way you’re making out with any girls anytime soon.” 

He paused for a moment, considering Joan’s words. Reluctantly, he conceded. “I, uh, might be feelin’ a little under the weather.” 

“Do you have a cough, a sore throat? Think it might be a cold?” 

“I don’t know. I woke up today feelin’ all warm and dizzy. Then, while I was gelling my hair up, I, uh, puked in the sink.” 

Joan’s face scrunched up imagining the scenario. “And you didn’t call in sick or anything?” 

“I’ve got a big track meet today. Coach is givin’ out varsity letters.” 

“Can’t you just get yours another time?” 

“What do you think this is? Middle school graduation? There’s a ceremony!” Joan gave JFK a look. “And a big bash at Marilyn Monroe’s place afterwards.” 

“Well, I don’t think you should go in this condition.” 

“I’ll be fine, Joan. Look, I’m movin’ just fine!” 

“Without me propping you up you’d be passed out on the floor or something,” Joan retorted. “Plus, you can’t just go around spreading your germs. The summer after eighth grade I went to sleep-away camp with strep. I ended up giving it to all the girls in my cabin. One girl died, Kennedy!” 

“Seriously?” 

“Well, it was either that or her parents pulled her from the camp. Either way I didn’t see her after that. My point is, they all hated me for giving them strep. I was ostracized the whole rest of the month. They thought I’d given them mono somehow.” 

“What, did you swap spit with ‘em?” JFK smirked. 

Joan rolled her eyes. “I see you can still be a perv even when your brain's being cooked in your skull.” 

“What can I say? It’s in my DNA. Literally, I think.” 

“Whatever. Just please stay home. If you take some medicine and get some sleep, you won’t puke anymore, and you’ll be able to get back to your track meets and workouts.” 

JFK huffed. “I’ll, uh, consider it. I guess I don’t wanna be sweating buckets while I’m up in front of everyone.” 

Joan felt relieved. “Yeah, you’d look pretty stupid.” 

JFK looked at her and gave a small smile, one of silent appreciation. At that moment, they reached the nurse’s office. Joan helped JFK inside and sat him down one of the cots in the back. The nurse took the pass from Joan’s hand and came to JFK’s side. Suddenly Joan was left with nothing to do. She’d done her job; she accompanied him to the nurse’s office, and now she could head back to class. She wished she could stay just a little longer, though. She was just starting to get to him. 

She glanced over to JFK as he listened intently to the nurse explain that she’d have to call his parents if he had a high enough fever. This and Joan’s advice caused him to look a bit more worried than he’d seemed before. Hopefully he was convinced now. Joan smiled to herself and left. 

\-- 

Joan kept JFK in the back of her mind as she continued the day. Throughout the rest of her classes, she wondered how he was doing. Did he end up going home? Did he take his medicine? Would he heed her advice and get some rest? At some point, she found these questions taking priority over her schoolwork. She frowned. 

This wasn’t like her. She had to do something about this nagging worry. 

When she returned home, she tossed her things on the couch and found Toots in the kitchen. He was in the middle of what she could only assume was mixing some kind of batter, though it looked like he was really mixing orange juice, egg yolks, rice, and salt. 

“Hey, Toots?” 

“Oh, hi, Joanie! I’m just making a cake right now. You want to lick some of the batter off the spoon?” He held the wooden spoon out in her general direction. 

“No, I’m good, Toots. I actually have a question for you. Do you remember that soup you used to make for me whenever I got sick as a kid? The one that’d always make me feel better, like, right away?” 

“Let’s see. I think I remember.” 

“Do you still know how to make it? I’ve got a friend who’s really sick right now and I wanted to bring some for him.” 

“Oh, I understand. Now, Joanie, I may be blind, but I can see clear as day that you’re very worried about this boy. So worried that you’re resorting to uncharacteristically domestic duties like cooking him some hot soup. Don’t worry, I’ve been there. We all do strange things for love.” 

“I’m not in lo--” 

“Shh. It’s okay, Joanie. There’s no need to explain yourself.” Toots set the spoon down and fumbled around in a nearby drawer. “I’m sure I’ve still got the recipe here somewhere. I wrote it down the first time I made it.” He searched for a few more moments before pulling out a piece of paper. “Aha! Here it is.” 

He handed it over to Joan. She unfolded it and found it to be a summary of his most recent doctor’s visit. She avoided reading it and quickly folded it back up. “Thanks, Toots. I’m sure he’ll love it.” 

“You’re absolutely welcome. Now, where did I put the non-stick cooking spray?” Toots surveyed the kitchen counter before picking up a bottle of Raid. 

\-- 

Joan ended up looking for a chicken noodle soup recipe online. After helping Toots avoid accidentally poisoning himself, she got him out of the kitchen and began work on her culinary endeavor. She wasn’t really big on cooking. She much preferred to eat out or heat up a frozen dinner, mostly out of laziness. Honestly, she’d rather spend her time studying, reading, or doing literally anything else, than cooking. So, when she started reading through the recipe, she was a bit lost. She didn’t know what it meant to “mince” garlic or what the hell thyme and bay leaves were. She made plenty of mistakes, including a few scrapes to her fingers with the knife. But, in the end, she had a passable serving of chicken noodle soup. She took a tentative test sip and, though it wasn’t as good as store-bought soup, it was the product of hard work and it was certainly soup. 

It was soup that was made from scratch and with... affection. 

Joan poured the soup into a thermos and started for the front door before she remembered something from her room. She quickly ran upstairs to grab it and came back down, now ready to leave. 

“I’m going to my friend’s house, Toots,” she called out. “I’ll be back before midnight.” 

\-- 

As she pulled up to JFK’s house, Joan felt a wave of anxiety pass over her. She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous. She supposed it was because this was the first time she’d ever cooked for someone else. Just that, nothing else. She spent a good five minutes waiting parked behind JFK’s van before she figured that she should get inside before she looked like a creep waiting in their driveway. She made the trek up to the front door and knocked. One of JFK’s foster dads (the “good cop” of the two, Wally) opened the door. 

“Hi! It’s Joan, right? What a surprise. What brings you to our home, sweetie?” He greeted with a smile. 

“Hi. Uh, I heard JFK’s sick and I just wanted to bring some soup for him. To help him feel better.” She was awkward in her explanation, but she hoped Wally would accept it. 

“Oh, that is so kind of you. Come on in,” he ushered her inside. “He’s just in his room right now. It’s upstairs, last door on the right. Feel free to just walk in.” 

“Thank you so much,” Joan said. She gave Wally a sincere smile before heading upstairs. On her way to JFK’s room, she looked around at the various photos hung up in the hallway. Some of them were from Wally and Carl’s wedding, but a lot of them were of the whole family. There were pictures of JFK and his foster dads on family trips, at holiday celebrations -- even some photos of JFK as a kid. Joan snickered to herself at some of the pictures of young JFK. His hair was unruly, definitely from a time pre-hair-gel. He still had the same dopey eyes and goofy grin, but he lacked the look of arrogance and vanity he often had on nowadays. Instead, he was just a happy little boy. 

She reached the end of the hallway, turning to look at JFK’s bedroom door. It was plain except for a small, hand-made sign hanging from the doorknob that read, “Not Banging Chicks.” Out of curiosity, Joan flipped it to the other side. “Currently Banging Chicks.” She didn’t know what she expected. 

She took a deep breath and gently rapped on the door. 

“Come in!” She slowly opened the door and peered inside. To her left lay JFK on his bed, sports magazine splayed out on his lap. “Joan? How’d you get in?” 

“One of your dads let me in. I thought that’d be obvious.” 

“What are you doin’ here?” He asked in surprise. 

“I, uh, wanted to bring you some soup. Hopefully it’ll make you feel better.” She awkwardly looked around for somewhere to sit but found no chairs. She gestured to the spot on the bed next to him. “Do you mind if I...?” 

He understood and quickly scooted over. She sat down on the edge of the bed then and pulled the thermos out of her bag. She handed it to JFK. He asked, “did you make this yourself?” 

Joan looked away. “Yeah, something like that. I’m not really a chef, so sorry if it tastes bad.” She glanced back at him for a moment as he took the first sip from the thermos. 

“Joan... this is--” 

“Awful? Yeah, I don’t know, I figured--” 

“I, er uh, was gonna say it tastes great! What’s in it?” 

“Oh. Uh... Well, there’s chicken, noodles, onion, garlic, a shit-ton of herbs and stuff. It’s kind of basic, I think.” She shrugged. 

“It’s incredible!” He gushed. Joan looked back at him and realized he was being sincere. Amidst his flushed, fevered face, his eyes glowed with adoration. Joan felt her face warm up, too, and looked away again. 

“Thanks. I’ve never actually made chicken noodle soup before, so this is the first time.” 

“I, uh, can hardly tell,” JFK complimented. 

“So, how are you feeling? End up taking any medicine to combat this cold?” 

“Oh, yeah. The nurse sent me home because I, er uh, had a fever of 101. When I got home, my, er, foster dads were hoverin’ all over me, shovin’ pills down my throat and stuff. I’m feelin’ better, though.” 

“That’s good.” 

“Yeah. And it’s all thanks to you, Joan! If you, uh, hadn’t found me out, I probably would’ve passed out at the track meet and looked like a real bozo.” 

“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” She joked. He giggled a little at her attempt at friendliness, which in turn made Joan smile. “I’m glad you listened to me.” 

“Well, you made a pretty convincing case. I want to get back to track as soon as I can. Plus, I, er, kinda miss mackin’ on the ladies.” 

“And there’s the JFK I’m used to,” Joan rolled her eyes. “At least you’ve got motivation to get healthier.” Suddenly, Joan remembered what else she’d brought. “Oh! I brought something else, too.” 

JFK looked on in curiosity as Joan rummaged through her bag. She pulled out a mini humidifier. “Ta-da!” 

“Is that a bong?” 

“What? No, it’s a humidifier. It keeps the air in the room moist and helps treat things like coughs and colds.” 

JFK chuckled. “Moist.” 

She ignored his remark. “I’ll plug it in for you.” She walked around the bed to the nightstand. She reached underneath to plug the humidifier into the outlet but stopped as she noticed the contents of JFK’s trashcan next to it. At the very top of the pile were a few spit-out Nyquil caplets. They glistened still, so they must have been recently spit out. 

“JFK... You took your cold medicine, right?” 

“Yeah, I downed all of it. Why?” 

Joan picked up the trashcan and tilted it his way. “Care to explain these then?” 

“Those, er, aren’t mine.” 

“Whose are they?” 

“They’re my dad’s.” 

“Your healthy dads are taking Nyquil?” 

“Yeah, to, uh, get high. Or something.” 

Joan let out a heavy sigh. “Kennedy, quit lying to me. I know you didn’t take your cold medicine. I just want to know why.” 

JFK hesitated, but realized it would be pointless to try to fight Joan on it. “I, er uh, can’t swallow them.” 

“You can’t swallow them?” 

“That’s what I said.” 

“You’re sixteen years old and you can’t take Nyquil capsules?” 

“They’re like horse pills, Joan! They make me gag.” 

She scoffed. “That’s what she said.” 

“Listen, you—Hey, that was kind of good. You’re startin’ to sound like me.” 

“Innuendos aside, Kennedy, you need to take your medicine. I can feed you soup all you want, but you’ve gotta take medicine for anything to actually happen.” 

JFK frowned and his eyebrows pulled together. “Will you help me take it then?” 

“Fine. Sure. Where’s the box?” JFK pointed to the drawer in the nightstand. Joan opened it and retrieved the box of Nyquil. She popped two of the capsules out and sat back down on the edge of the bed. “Here, wash it down with soup.” She gave him the capsules to put in his own mouth, then offered him the soup afterwards. Although he struggled, he seemed to be trying to keep everything down instead of giving up again. She had to commend him for that. 

When he finally took the second capsule, Joan patted him on the arm. “See? Wasn’t so bad, was it?” 

“I don’t know. It was still bad.” 

“Well, it’s over now. And the good news is it’ll help you fall asleep soon, too. The more sleep you get, the sooner you’ll be healed.” She looked back over to the humidifier sitting next to the bed. “Oh, let me turn this on.” 

She started the humidifier up and watched as it diffused the water through the air. The sound of it was calming to her as she was used to keeping it on at night (she was prone to nosebleeds when the air was particularly cold and dry). JFK watched in awe as it worked its magic, having never seen or used a humidifier before. If it was anything but the twenty-first century, he surely would’ve thought it was witchcraft. 

Joan clapped her hands together and reached for her bag. “Right, well, my job here is done. I hope you start to feel better, JFK.” 

She started to walk to the door before JFK stopped her. “Wait! I, er uh, kind of want you to stay. You just got here, after all.” 

She slowly returned to her spot on the bed. “Okaaayy, what do you want to do?” 

“Well, I’m, uh, not really in the right condition to, er, do what I wanna do, if you catch my meaning.” 

Joan sighed and groaned. “Is it always going to be sex jokes with you, Kennedy? You can’t be serious for one moment while I’m trying to help you?” 

He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Sorry, no more sex jokes. But, uh, you know, you’re kinda hot when you get all angry like that.” 

Joan was peeved but took the compliment anyways. “Sure.” 

“You’re cute, too, when you, uh, dote over me. It’s nice. No one's done,” he gestured vaguely to the things Joan brought, “all this for me. So, thanks.” 

She hid the hint of a smile forming on her lips. “Don’t mention it.” 

After a moment of silence, JFK suggested, “wanna watch a movie or something? I’ve got some DVDs over by my TV.” 

Joan nodded and looked at the selection of DVDs. They were mostly action and superhero films which Joan didn’t really have any interest in, but she did find something different at the bottom of the stack. 

“ _10 Things I Hate About You_?” She held the DVD case up. “Didn’t think you’d be into rom-coms.” 

“I, uh, just watch it for Julia Stiles. She’s easy on the eyes.” 

“Right. Well, I wouldn’t mind watching this. What do you think?” 

JFK agreed, and Joan put the disc into the DVD player. The movie started in no time. 

Joan was still sitting on the edge of the bed, next to JFK. As the minutes passed by, she could feel her muscles tire from perching herself like this. She shifted around to try and lessen the ache. 

JFK noticed this and moved over, allowing her more room on the bed. He patted the spot next to him. 

She looked at the spot tentatively. 

“I don’t bite,” JFK joked. Joan hesitated before finally moving to sit all the way on the bed. She stayed over the covers, but she knew that she was still very close to JFK right now. Their legs were mere inches apart, and their shoulders were definitely touching. JFK was already warm from his fever, the soup, and the blankets enveloping him, but Joan figured she was even warmer. 

A few more minutes passed, and Joan still couldn’t get her mind off the physical contact they were making. They’d been close before, like when she was bringing him to the nurse’s office earlier, so she wasn’t sure why she was so flustered now. Maybe it was because she was in a boy’s room, on a boy’s bed. Yeah, the setting really changed everything. 

To try and distract herself, she spoke up. “Did you know this movie’s a retelling of Shakespeare’s _The Taming of the Shrew_?" 

JFK perked up. “Really? But they’re, er, in high school. How did Shakespeare know what high school is?” 

“It’s an adaptation. The original play is set in the 16th century, but the creators of the movie adapted the story to fit a modern high school setting.” 

“Ohh, I see. Well, Billy Shakes did a pretty good job with the teen drama. It’s so realistic!” 

“Well, the original _Taming of the Shrew_ is pretty different. Patrick, or Petruchio, ‘tames’ Katherina by psychologically tormenting her and, in general, it’s got weird misogynistic undertones. Some people say it’s supposed to be some kind of cautionary tale, but, if that were the case, then why have Petruchio and Katherina end up married? Why have Katherina turn into a submissive wife? Is love just supposed to magically turn her from a headstrong woman to a domestic slave?” 

JFK looked at her with confusion. He’d understood less than half of the words in her rant. 

She sighed. “What I mean is, yeah he did a good job. His plays are constantly being adapted all the time. Like how _The Lion King_ is just a retelling of _Hamlet_.” 

“Wait, _The Lion King_ is Shakespeare, too?!” JFK’s eyes widened. “This guy’s good! Maybe I, uh, should read some of his stuff.” 

Joan smiled. “Well, if you’re ever interested, I have a big book of all his plays at mine. I could lend it to you or something.” 

“That’d be great! Thanks, Joan.” JFK gave her that signature goofy grin, and she thought for a moment that he didn’t even seem sick anymore. He looked like he was recovering well with her there. She wondered if he knew what he was getting into when he said he wanted to read Shakespeare’s works. She figured she’d need to help him out with the old timey language. She smiled at the thought of reading together with JFK. 

They resumed watching the movie, JFK occasionally chiming in with questions about the original play, which Joan patiently answered. They’d both seen the movie before, so they were content with talking over it in the background. They chatted casually. Joan asked about track, and JFK excitedly explained. He went on about the team and bragged about his many achievements. He was a star athlete, Joan could tell. Joan admitted to not being very athletic beyond her natural talent for basketball. In return, JFK offered to work out with her sometime and even be a personal trainer of sorts. She wondered if there was any ulterior motive, like wanting to see her in a sports bra or something, but thought to give him the benefit of the doubt. He’d seemed genuine enough. 

Their conversation eventually slowed down as they returned to the movie partway in. Joan was comfortable to sit in this silence now, leaning into JFK’s side. He didn’t seem to object to this as he gingerly wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Joan’s nerves had dissipated by now and she felt almost... cozy? I could get used to this, she thought. 

The movie ended finally after an hour and a half. Joan turned to JFK to ask him what he thought but was quickly met with the sound of snoring. JFK had fallen asleep at some point. He was completely knocked out, but he seemed relaxed too. Joan reached out to feel his forehead, finding it to be significantly less warm than before. He was getting better. His face was still a little flushed, but it was more of a rosy pink than a red, now. His mouth was parted open, soft murmurs falling out as he talked to himself in his sleep. Everything was incomprehensible. It was endearing. 

Joan slowly moved off the bed, making sure not to wake up JFK. She made her way over to the TV and took the disc out of the DVD player, returning it to its case. She turned the TV off and dimmed the light in his room so he could sleep easy. She made sure the soup thermos was closed tight in case he wanted to eat more later, and she left the box of Nyquil on the nightstand where he could see it when he woke up. The humidifier continued to diffuse warm water into the air. She hoped it would help him like it helped her. 

Joan picked her bag up off the floor and looked back at JFK. He was still mumbling in his peaceful sleep. She smiled and walked back over to him. She gently cupped the side of his face, feeling the warmth radiate from his smooth skin. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. They were somewhat dry but soft. She thought to herself: does JFK wear chapstick? The kiss was quick, lasting hardly a second before she pulled back. JFK didn’t respond, so she figured he was still out. Hopefully he wouldn’t ever know about the kiss and Joan could keep it as a personal memory. She knew she wouldn’t forget about it. 

Joan left then, thanking JFK’s dads again on her way out. What she didn’t know was that, just as she’d left JFK’s bedroom, he broke out into a shit-eating grin. He wouldn’t forget the kiss either.

**Author's Note:**

> _A few days later, Joan wakes up with an awful cough and a high fever. Wonder where she got that from..._
> 
> Thank you so much for reading my silly little fic! I hope you liked it. Let me know what you thought!
> 
> (Also, side note: JFK's type definitely became edgy alt girl entirely because of Kat in _10 Things I Hate About You_ )


End file.
